


The Scars on Our Souls

by LadyBrooke



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, The Nature and Origins of Orcs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25114240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBrooke/pseuds/LadyBrooke
Summary: One day in the Halls, Finwë introduced his mother to Maedhros.He could only hope that this would bring peace to Maedhros.
Comments: 19
Kudos: 64





	The Scars on Our Souls

**Author's Note:**

> Finished and posted for Tolkien Gen Week 2020, Day 1, Family.

Maedhros wished for seemingly the hundredth time that he could bring himself to ask his grandfather to leave. Finwë had decided shortly after Maedhros’ arrival in the Halls that he would be the one to take over Maedhros’ healing, and while it was peaceful to not have to deal with his brothers, he could barely stand to see Finwë and have him see the horrors that Maedhros had fallen into. 

"I found my mother a few years ago, here in the Halls," Finwë said suddenly. 

Maedhros still did not look at his grandfather, but made an inquiring noise. 

"She will not see many. I have not told the rest of the family for that reason, but she will see you, if you will come with me to her rooms."

There was something Finwë was not saying. Maedhros could recognize that tone in his grandfather's voice, both from Finwë's use of it and his own, that hesitant, tricky turn to avoid speaking of something painful. 

He did not want to go, but he nodded finally. 

Finwë dragged Maedhros to his feet, pulling him down deserted corridors until they reached a plain door set back in the stone walls. Finwë knocked on it.

As the door opened, Maedhros stumbled backwards from the sight. 

She was covered in scars like he was, the deep ones Morgoth left on the fëar of elves he tormented. 

"Morgoth," she began, as Finwë shut the door and sat in a corner where he would not be in the way, "cannot take who you are away forever, no matter how deep he cuts."

Maedhros took a breath. He wanted to argue with this blunt statement of his deepest hopes, but she lifted her chin, deep scars cutting away from her mouth showing as she did. 

"If you wish to hide away, you may remain with me. But I will not listen to such nonsense as my son has told me you believe," she said. 

Maedhros' words died in his throat as she grabbed his hand, stroking the scar where it had once been severed away. "Even this has begun to heal. The rest will fade as well." 

He felt himself fold towards the ground, crying, as she wrapped her arms around him. 

"He made me one of his servants," she said. "I died one of his servants. You would not be in this section of the Halls if you were one of them."

Maedhros wondered, for a moment, what she meant. And then he remembered the odd doorways deep in the Halls he had passed, the way Námo had regarded him when he first died, and decided he did not wish to think of it anymore. 

Maedhros saw his grandfather nodding from the corner of his eye. Hoping desperately that his great-grandmother would not mind, he reached out a hand he had not used in centuries and gestured for his grandfather to come closer. 

When Finwë did, wrapping his arms around Maedhros, Maedhros let himself crumble before them.


End file.
